


Exequies

by TrashPanduh



Series: Nóatún [2]
Category: Midsommar (2019)
Genre: Belting, Breathplay, F/F, F/M, Flogging, Manipulation, Masochism, Mental Illness, Mind Games, Psychology Horror, Survivors Guilt, femdom if you squint
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-30
Updated: 2020-05-30
Packaged: 2021-03-03 05:08:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,796
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24449350
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TrashPanduh/pseuds/TrashPanduh
Summary: Here Dani will set her terms. He can keep her in his own yard, but he can’t dictate the games she plays.
Relationships: Past Christian/Dani, Pelle/Dani
Series: Nóatún [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2023907
Comments: 7
Kudos: 66





	Exequies

_“The Bull advanced slowly, with a kind of sinister daintiness, as though he were trying not to frighten her, and again she broke before him.”- Peter S. Beagle._

*

Love itself is what’s left over after being in love has burned away. Dani recalls reading that in a book decaying in a room she’ll never see again. Screams break out through the surrounding chorus of rhythmic hymns and she can’t be sure if they’re his. If she wants them to be or not.

So little remains of herself that her tears have waned to salt, so she’ll choke instead. She coughs up the poison of her love, vomits the rot of her regret until there’s nothing left. Through wet eyes, Dani imagines seeing a bear with a glowing mouth wailing to the sky. Tufts of fur burn to soot burns to ashes burns to dust until there’s nothing left.

At one point, she had wanted to spend the rest of her life with a man now melting in a bear suit _ChristiansOnFireHe’sBurning_. Wanted it so badly, more than she wanted to be happy, (even more than she wanted her sister to be healthy). Love itself is what’s left over after being in love has burned away.

The flowers pulse, laughing at her. No, thats not true. They’re laughing with her.

Dani doesn’t see Pelle behind her, the only one not staring at the bonfire.

It’s okay. She had never really seen him to begin with, anyway.

*

She doesn’t remember going to bed that night, or if there was a night. It’s all water around her, rotating on its axis under her, over her. There’s no up, no down. It’s possible there never was, but she just believed in it so much she it real in her mind. Blurry fingers gingerly clasp her waist and arms, leaving trails of color behind them. She doesn’t struggle against the caresses and adoring kisses again; she has nothing left to protect herself with. Dani can’t picture what that would look like now.

Her cheek dents into a hand-sewn pillow and she realizes they’d tucked her into the same bed. Right next to Christian’s right next to Josh’s. Fear permeates her gut like an infection. Distantly, she hears shallow breaths cut through the fog and echo in her ear, too close. It’s not until she feels cotton sliding down her chest does Dani realize it’s her, gulping oxygen like she’s drowning.

The phantom hands don’t fade. They pull her dress and underclothes away, wiping soot from her face as you would tend a garden. Lips rain along her temple and inside her wrists. Dani was made for love. But she doesn’t know if she was madeto be loved. Their adoration rings foreign and hallow. Their lips leave her numb, she can’t feel them properly.

Maybe she’s not drowning. Maybe she’s just being strangled very slowly.

*

It’s one of those dreams where you know it’s a dream but are no more lucid. Dani moves in a sea of yellow flora, wearing her normal clothes. Walking backwards, she plucks flower after flower, root first. There are others in her periphery, some mimicking her and the rest going about their day; all in reverse. Not forward. Terri walks next to her, not touching the flowers.

Dani holds several out to her, “Do you want some of mine?” disturbed by her empty hands. She was free to do anything she wanted with those idle hands.

Her little sister guffaws. “I don’t need them. I can grow my own.”

Sickeningly, Terri’s jaw unhinges like a serpent. Serrated vines slither out of her open mouth. They creep lower to twine around her throat in the perfect hangman’s knot. It forms the most macabre ouroboros.

“Do you want some of mine?” Suddenly Terri’s claws close around Dani’s throat where clover sprouts.

No amount of thrashing can free her. She’s gasping on nothing while her sister’s face blooms bloated with blood surging against her bulging eyes.

“Do you want mine, Dani?”

*

The sun is already high before she wakes to a migraine and a mouth full of sick. Several fresh linens line her trunk, but nothing she’d brought with her to this place.

She steps out on doe legs and fragile knees to cheery greetings. Spotting her across the yard, Karin and Inga trot over eagerly, chirping praises and polite inquiries in lilting Swedish. They usher her to the kitchens, sliding their arms through the crook of her own.

Karin serves her a roll of bread she readily tears apart piece by piece. The other woman giggles affably, “You missed breakfast this morning. How do you feel?”

“Like I missed breakfast this morning.” She manages an anxious smile the others accept with little thought.

Lumps of wet flour and egg are rapidly turning to meat tarts, pies, and spongy cakes when Karin peers at her out of her peripheral vision. “The last celebration is coming up. Are you excited?”

Dani pauses. “For what?”

*

The Hårga children clumsily assemble as she sits with a pit in her stomach and a weight on her chest. They’re draped in unfamiliar costumes, re-enacting a folk tale she’s never heard of. The empty spot to her right doesn’t surprise her, even as others cordially acknowledge before continuing past. It doesn’t surprise her when Pelle appears, and fills it, with a friendly smile that unsettles her. They haven’t spoken yet, not about anything. It occurs to Dani she hadn’t always been able to grab a seat next to Christian, but there was always a space near her for Pelle. Every single time.

He glimpses down into the hollow of her throat for a second _‘You know,’_ there’s a hushed intensity in the way he watches her, as if visually devouring her, _‘I think it is actually very good you are coming.’_

_’For who?’_

The play ends without her ever really seeing it. Dani claps absently, watching the children preen and bow. All at once she realizes she knows nothing about Pelle; here in this alien world of his, where he is the only thing she recognizes. What an awful and terrifying thought.

 _’And yet..I was most excited for_ you _to come.’_

Dani wonders if she excites him still.

*

When it happens, Inga is showing her how to safely feed the goats. The taller woman spots something over her shoulder and before she has time to turn, she’s already excusing herself. Father Odd approaches her mildly; it doesn’t stop the cold sweat that breaks along her brow and between her breasts.

“Please pardon the intrusion, I did not mean to interrupt you.” He gestures to the hungry goats mouthing impatiently through the gate.

Dani swallows, focusing on her surroundings to quell her panic. Her therapist had taught her that technique. “I was just helping Inga..”

He picks up the abandoned feed bucket with a low chuckle. “I can see,” A small child runs over to finish up her chores at his beckoning. “I had hoped I might have the honor of hosting our fair May Queen at my home, for a small chat and tea.”

He says it as if it were a request, a hospitable invitation. She knows it’s not.

The brief walk to his house is like trudging against a heavy tide. She’s both weightless and cripplingly heavy.

Two chairs, a narrow table with biscuits and cups are already there when she makes her way to the sitting room. The thought of any food or drink make her squeamish, but her hands feel empty and awkward with nothing to occupy them. He pulls out her chair and she thanks him quietly in what little of their language she knows.

“The tea should be ready, everyone absolutely loves my Orange tea.” He remarks, moving towards the other door.

Dani shakes her head, “Oh, oh no that’s okay you don’t-” but Odd clicks his tongue at her with a wave that says he’ll not hear of it.

“Please humor an Old Man, few do these days.”

He returns humming with a steaming pot painted in Scandinavian fables. The cup sits cold in her hands, and she obediently raises it for him to fill. It reassures her only a little that he pours the same drink in his own mug before sitting down with her. Asking what’s in it feels laughable at this point. What could she do either way? Nothing but a tangy sweetness meets her tongue, and it disappoints her just somewhat. Odd observes her expectantly, bushy eyebrows arch in wait, enunciating the lines around his eyes.

She hears herself clear her throat uneasily. “It’s great, thank you.” Another sip occupies the racing thoughts.

“A tiny, little pinch of vinegar creates the perfect balance to enhance the sweetness.” He preens, appearing especially chuffed at her timid praise.

Sliding a thin biscuit to her, he continues, “Pelle has always had an impeccable sense for people,” Dani stops mid bite, “An unclouded intuition, if you will.” There’s a loaded pause as he assesses her reaction, whether she’s receptive.

How can she do anything but receive when she has nothing to give. What more could they want if they’re the ones that took everything?

“His pilgrimage was the most fruitful we’ve received in many generations.”

*

Pelle drove her home once. Just once. It was a house party and Christian was drunk, Terri was inconsolable, and her parents were helpless, and she was failing, falling and failing. Even though Pelle had driven them there, it was still too early for the guys to want to leave yet.

Its freezing, the leaves crunch noisily beneath her boots, and Terri’s hung up on her again. It’s her fourth text going unanswered, leaving her colder, and worried, and so angry. It was a stupid college party, and she wanted to be a stupid college kid getting wasted, forgetting her stupid stagnant relationship, her stupid failings as a sister, her parents’ sad futile efforts to hang on to their daughter.

She’s already committed to just waiting out here until Christian wants to leave.

”Dani?? Are you alright?”

Her phone almost fumbles out of her grip in surprise. Why was anyone else was out here when all the fun, all the liquor, all the women were in there. “Pelle, what’re you doing?”

He sheepishly raises his hands in a pacifying gesture. “Sorry, didn’t know you were on the phone.”

Dani waves him away trying to look how any other college girl at a midterms end party would look. Unbothered, carefree, indulgent. “No no, I wasn’t. I was just texting my-”She hesitates, because Pelle doesn’t know her sister but Christian does and he might tell him and that’ll be another fight, “Classmate.” She quickly unsnaps her purse and shoves her phone to the very bottom. Like hiding evidence, like hiding a body.

Pelle nods thoughtfully. He always seems to understand. It unsettles her for reasons she can’t articulate. “If you have something to do, I can take you home. I’m already driving the others,” He shrugs, “and parties aren’t as fun when you’re the only one who’s not drinking.”

“Sorry you got roped into that.” She laughs. There’s a split second where she considers him, feeling apprehensive. She’s 90% positive Christian sent him to do his dirty work for him so he could stay and not feel like an asshole. Pelle’s probably just being a naïve friend who should learn when to say ‘no’.

There’s another, smaller, part that absently recalls Pelle eyeing her body in her peripheral vision, making eye contact with her a little too long here and there. It could all be in her head, but she can’t tell. “Um..are you sure? My place is a little farther out there, I can chip in for gas.”

He doesn’t look put upon, not even a little bit. Pelle merely rejects her offer respectfully and asks if she could google map her address to him.

Dani thinks, only now, that she should have waited for Christian.

*

A perfect match, of land, of sea, to create a muddy soil for something wondrous to sprout. An ideal pilgrimage repaid in a special wish. There’s a savage relief in the sentence finally being issued. No more waiting, no more wondering, it’s done. She examines the intricate thread work on the Old Man’s tunic, trying to decipher the runes and patterns. Something needles her to make a request of her own. “Okay,” she agrees, “Yes, um, am I allowed to speak with him first?”

Father Odd appears amused by the query, but not reluctant. “Of course, I will send for him now. You are more than welcome to discuss your terms here.”

Terms. What does she want? Dani isn’t even sure what Pelle genuinely wants. Leaving isn’t on the table, there’s isn’t anything or anyone to return to.

Whatever vision she had of a future for herself are only fantasies now. Becoming a counselor, her sister healthy and happy hugging her at her wedding, laughing at their parents vacation photos together, rolling her eyes at her dad’s antiquated memes and food photos, all pipe dreams. She should hate Pelle, but she doesn’t. Not truly. Dani doesn’t know if she’s capable of hating someone more than herself.

“Everything’s Black, Dani…”

When someone returns, it isn’t Father Odd, but they come alone. There’s no reason to turn around, so she stares at the empty chair until a lean figure fills the space. After a moment she glances up at Pelle’s serene face regarding her thoughtfully.

He’s taller than Odd and his knees don’t simply skim her own, they cage her in. A cold spite germinates in her stomach, making her wonder what he would do if she were to strike him right here. If she shoved thumbs between those lids, deep into his sockets. He’s gobbled up her most pathetic moments. Seen her pettiness, her vengeance, her vomit, her snot, her tears, her pleading hands clutching _beggingbeggingbegging_.

Pelle speaks, apologetic, before she even knows what to say. “I had wanted to declare myself to you in person. Like what you would be used to, probably. But, traditions being what they are..” He makes an ambiguous indication with his hands to fill the silence. “Hopefully, this has not been too uncomfortable for you.”

She might have laughed if this all wasn’t so terrifyingly ludicrous. _Uncomfortable_.

The staggering desire to hurt him, to force her pain down his trachea and choke him with it nearly swallows her whole. If she wills it hard enough maybe he’d crumble to nothing in that chair.

Wanting him to disappear is the closest she’s ever been to wanting him. _‘You may discuss your terms here.’_

What does she want? “Father Odd said we could…I dunno, negotiate..this, whatever this is.” It’s the first time she’s spoken to him since he cupped her face and pressed a deep kiss to her open mouth.

A flicker of curiosity, as if that wasn’t what he was expecting to hear, plays across his gaze before quickly being buried under an indulgent smile. “Yes, yes, of course.”

The elder had explained most of what they would expect of her. Though she can’t be certain how much was shared and how much was spared for her benefit. Such that it is. “Will-” she gathers herself, “is it-are others going to be present?”

Pelle shakes his head, consoling her fear. “No, that was a different ceremony you witnessed between Maj-”

“Stop!” For a split second she doesn’t know if her hand shoots up to hit him or halt him. Not here. Not with him. She won’t ever talk about Christian with him again. It feels like summoning a spirit, a demon possibly. Allowing Pelle to talk about him almost makes Christian his and not hers.

But he was. At one point not too long ago.

Swallowing down her rage, rebuking the onslaught of sorrow that threatens to drown her, she waits for Pelle to fully understand her before continuing.

Luckily, he steers back to less tumultuous waters without protest. “There will be a bit of pageantry, but nothing too..overwhelming.”

Dani nods quietly, processing it, picturing the same hand sewn dresses and ocean of flowers. “Do May Queens typically ask for anything the day before?”

He shrugs. “Feats of love, presentation of gifts, serenading, it’s mostly theatrical. The Elders and the children enjoy it more, I think-”

“I don’t want that.” She cuts him off.

Pelle nods indulgently, as if struggling to read her. “No, you will have your own requests. Anything you like.” His voice is gentle and earnest. But it’s a lie.

She can’t have anything she would like.

What does she want, what can she have for herself? Dani could ask for answers, the truth. How long? From the beginning? Why them? Why her? Whyandwhyandwhy? She had wailed similar things to her sister’s deserted room, imagined her responses and none could cauterize her heartbreak. There’s nothing Pelle could tell her that would save her and not destroy her utterly.

She peeks up into his patient, loving eyes. She knows. Dani knows what she wants, now. She wants to see him for real. Wants to see him as he was driving the mallet into the Josh’s skull, see what he looked like separating Simon’s lungs from his body, see the Pelle that dragged Connie’s bloated carcass from the lake and threw her in a wheelbarrow.

She wants to see Pelle grinning at his _good friend_ naked, paralyzed with drugs and fear lying in a dirty chicken coop.

It would repulse her in ways Hårga women wouldn’t flinch. Pelle wants Dani to believe they are the same. Dead parents, dead siblings, brothers in arms in the war of unrequited love, thrust into unfamiliar lands with no comforts of home. But they’re not the same. Not in any of the ways he thinks.

Taking a deep breath, she gives him her verdict. “Okay. Yeah, I accept.” Pelle beams boldly at her, euphoric almost. His arm stretches to take her hand but clutches nothing when she jerks it from his reach. “However it has to happen, I’ll do it. But the rest-” She waits, wanting his full attention. “We do it my way. No exceptions.”

Pelle pulls back, but not entirely. She should wonder what would happen if he refuses, except the thought never even occurs to her.

The silent contemplation only lasts a beat before the corner of his lips turn up agreeably. The same expression that piperedthem all here, making them all unassuming, docile and dead. “Yes.” Well no, not all of them.

Dani slides her fingers into the heart of his palm and he clasps them as though he’s just received everything he’s ever wanted. And he has, albeit much like her and those she came with, it won’t be what he’s expecting.

Or ever wanted.

*

The women excitedly descend upon her after dinner the final night. She’s promptly stripped and lifted like a bride into the Wooden bathtub steaming from the center of the room. Small girl children hand them cloths and sponges and oils to rub into her skin. Dani’s reflection peers up from the rippling water, dotted with countless petals. The urge to submerge herself, and not come up, digs claws into her mind. Her therapist back home nothomeanymore had emphasized the importance of taking things day by day. How do you count the days when there are no more days, when there’s only existence? Whatever that is. Had this been what her sister had felt that last night? What she’d been so desperately trying to tell her and their parents.

Terri’s discolored face abruptly replaces her own, gazing up at her. Vines entwine, slithering like eels from her mouth, coiled around her pharynx.

All at once, everything is black and water is being poured over her head, Ulla’s fingers pressed over her brow protecting it from the soap. Their parents similarly had bathed their daughters together when they were little. They filled their nights with splashing water, mindful of getting it in places that stung, playing nonsensical games with bubbles until their toes pruned. School was never lonely. They always had each other to eat lunch with, to play with, to talk to. She thinks Terri would hate her, should hate her, if she could see her now. A lifetime together and her sister is compensated with being eaten by maggots, while these strange women move seamlessly into her place.

As though she were never there at all.

If Dani forgets her one day, her face, her voice, the feel of her skin, then it would be true.

*

When they finish, they help her find tenuous feet on dubious ground. Karin dutifully dries her hair and guides her to kneel along a wood plank shaped like a sun; overwhelmed with flora. They’re not covering or clothing her, even as her flesh raises in goosebumps, merely fixing an intricate crown of blossoms along her hairline. Dani doesnt notice Karin coating her lips and fingers in oil from a little bottle in her dress. Before she has time to process it, they’re joined mouth on lips on fingers on cunt. She pulls back, just enough to watch her pupils become caverns that swallow her whole _fallingintotheBlackDani_. There’s a sweet herbal smell emanating from her nose and lip.

“It will help you, if you become nervous.” A tiny pink tongue traces the shine from her bottom lip, and she leans in too close. “I did as you asked, you’ll see where.” She whispers for her alone, her slender digits gone, leaving behind a heated emptiness that makes her squirm.

Suddenly, the doors are swinging open and rows upon rows of Hårga men file in all around her. She seizes Karin fearfully, like she’d clutched Christian at the base of a cliff. Fortunately, no one leers or molests her, they laughingly lift her platform about their shoulders, stray blooms peppering the ground as they march her from the house.

In the distance a mixture of beating drums, tagelharpa and guttural singing permeate the fog clogging her brain with cotton. Her body is so light she could levitate, tiny color trails following every movement. A small decorative house sits in a circle of men and women enthusiastically watching her makeshift palanquin’s approach. They all part and make way, touching her platform reverently, the drums and strings thrumming along with her heartbeat.

She can now make out Pelle standing diligently by the door in anticipation, instantly spotting her as they draw near. The urge to run, to cover herself with something, anything, almost overtakes her. Fortunately, or not, Pelle is striding briskly the last few yards towards her platform not bothering to wait for them to lower her. Dani initially shirks away, half thinking he would make a grab for her.

Except he doesn’t, he only offers his arms up to her grinning ear to ear; monsters’ teeth in a child’s face.

Some villagers look amused, charmed by the zealous theater. One man bearing her plank wears her father’s face when he grumbles jokingly to the younger man. Pelle mutters her name, and she snaps away. “Dani come.” He beckons, “Its safe.”

Swallowing hard, Dani accepts his outstretched hand, trying to focus on something beyond his shoulder. He doesn’t pull her, but he interlocks their fingers and lets her shift her legs into his other arm.

Her mother had brought her and Terri to a Christmas party at work once when they were children. There was this awkward sense of playing dress up in a costume that didn’t fit. This wasn’t a party as she and sister understood with cake and toys and games. It was a world only her parents were comfortable in, sipping wine, talking in an inconceivable grownup language. Luckily she and Terri were able to escape, in their gaudy Christmas dresses with their puffy sleeves, to play in an empty office. It was more bearable than watching her mom become a stranger. As though she were other things besides just hers and Terri’s.

While the situation is mortally different, the experience is surprisingly similar.

Pelle controls the room with the glow of a swooning groom, but she feels more a child than any bride. A brutal priest masked in fabric and grease paint flicks blood onto Pelle’s bare feet and stretches up to smear her in a thick line of red from forehead to chin. Splitting her face into mirrored halves of themselves.

The Hårga cheer as he finishes the blessing, stepping back to allow them to cross the Rubicon.

*

Inside there’s a bed of fur dug into the floorboards, miniature runes running along the edges. Garlands hang from the ceiling and walls, draping fabrics quilted into various Scandinavian love fables. A small vanity with a wide ornate bench lay against the farthest wall. Another wooden tub, this one twice the size of her own, rests to the side near an enclosed fireplace. It’s like a tiny enchanted forest.

Or cursed, more or less.

Pelle sets her on her ground cautiously, balancing her when she wobbles on unsteady feet. Immediately, She moves to put space between them, removing her headdress, they’ve already been closer than she ever would have allowed otherwise. Dani can’t tell if it’s the oils, the herbal drinks, or the isolating otherworldliness of the room that gives her courage, but she circles about the space taking it in. Mapping it in her mind. A small unnatural shine peers at her from the fireplace hidden near the mantel. When Dani turns, she’s notices he hadn’t followed her, come to draw her close again. Instead, he’s watching her as a parent would their child exploring a new playground for the first time. He’s holding back, taking in her reactions, ready to step in if she roams too far. Always at the ready to herd her back behind the comfortable safety of his own fencing.

He’s wearing the look he gave her when he was making small talk with her on her boyfriend’s couch. How long has he hidden that look? What other things would he be willing to give her now?

The heat licks the backs of her knees as he closes the distance and she realizes she has nowhere left to retreat. The crown of pulsing flowers becomes the only barrier she can put between them. She imagines the roots growing through her, into her, drinking from her until there’s nothing left. Love itself is what’s left over after being in love has burned away.

Her jaw clenches instinctually at the brush of his palms against her cheeks. He implores her “I know how..devastating.. and scary all of this must be for you, Dani.” His thumb traces the arch of her cheekbone delicately. “But, you have my word that death and misery will not be all there is. Spring will come to you again.” Pelle is cunning, willful, but he has a devoted heart. He believes everyone wants to be happy, has a longing to be held. However, being cherished has never stuck to her skin the way grief and heartbreak do.

Anguish soothes Dani so much more than being in love ever had. And the blue of his eyes looks so ghostly in the firelight. “I can’t tell when you’re lying to me or not, Pelle.”

Death and blood, it seems, don’t unnerve him like rejecting his comfort, or refusing his attempts at emotional intimacy. That disarming smile remains undaunted, but a flicker of displeasure passes over his gaze. A flash and then it’s gone. It doesn’t matter. Not really, or anymore. He can lie to her whenever he pleases, because she can’t be bothered to lie to him. Regardless of how much he might want her to return the favor.

And he does. Especially now.

Somehow, Dani gathers the nerve to set her burden on the mantel, and folds her fingers around something crueler. “I want to kiss you,”

Pelle puffs longing, joy, relief across her chin. Grinning like a boy. Not a demon. “Yes,” He’s nods, before he’s diving into her. “Yes.”

 _No_. “Not Yet.”

He’s abruptly intercepted, Dani pushing a strap of leather into the fabric of his shirt. He stops, eyeing it in confusion. It’s his own belt. The one in he brought with him from America. She watches him take it from her, puzzled. Whether he understands the new rules, is unimportant. Dani is apt at teaching, and she’s hopelessly resilient.

The modest vanity glints in her shadow as she draws near. The cushioned bench creaks softly when she kneels into it. The buttons pressing against the tops of her feet and the cheeks of her ass. She looks over her shoulder, even though she can see him just as well in front of her.

Something must click in his head because the humble guise of faithful devotion melts away, and something just as significant but so much more foreboding takes its place. “You don’t wan-”

“Pelle, I’m not going to hold your hand.” She may kiss him, just like she promised, she will fuck him, but she won’t hold his hand.

Christian hadn’t possessed the courage to look her in the face and tell her he stopped loving her long before she was ready. Never bold enough to be anything but a martyr on the alter of her own tragedy. He wouldn’t admit it, but Dani was the most interesting thing about him.

And Dani has no more love in her heart for cowards.

She reminds in passing, “I turned 27.” twisting back to the mirror when he doesn’t reply.

Minutes tick by and he regards her with a dark inscrutable expression, mute, the belt tapping against his thigh. Eventually he turns and walks away from her, intending to leave Dani is sure. Perhaps to relay to the Hårga how she tried to desecrate their space, built to honor love and new life. Poison it with a sickness all her own making. They should have immolated her in the Bear Skin. Though that train of thought crashes and burns when he pulls his shirt off and folds it delicately on the bed. Returning to her.

She eyes him warily, watching him draw near. They perpetually circle one another, advancing and retreating and forever getting nowhere. His naked stomach is hot against her back. Her own clenching tight at the coolness of his hand cradling her jaw.

The press of his lips against her crown, inhaling the scent of her, makes her eyes flutter. “Happy Birthday.” He murmurs.

When she opens them he’s already stepping back, belt looped in a tight fist. The first slap of leather down the arch of her isn’t light, but measuring. Dani flinches at the sting, but little else. It may be the oils and drink that have numbed her or maybe she does, in fact, want a proof of love.

Propping her elbows onto the wood desk, pronouncing the curve of her back, she snarls “Hypocrite.” so low she’s not sure he hears her.

That seems to steady him because the 2nd lash is enough to make her choke.

*

For weeks her brain has been in a slow motion collision, her senses dripping from her like water from a cracked glass. Strikingly every rhythmic whip of Pelle’s belt submerges her in a piercing deluge of sensation that threatens to wash her away entirely. Leaving nothing but a lingering impression of a nightmare. The room is silent save for blows of skin meeting skin and the painful keening gasps she can’t count anymore. The strokes come in bloody waves, unhurried, brutal, precise. She has just enough room to brace herself for the next, but never enough for the throbbing to fully fade.

It’s a staring contest in endurance and will. It should concern her that Pelle has years of experience watching and waiting, applying subtle pressure until harvest.

Cold sweat makes her spine clammy and fragile, the moisture heightening a cutting ache. One lash slaps against a particularly raw spot near her shoulder blade, knocking the wind from her and driving her hand into the mirror for balance. When she sees herself, fine hairs plastered against her face, eyes wet and swollen, mucus pools into the divot of her lip. Above her, Pelle is methodical and composed, with a swirling haze of color softening his silhouette. Was this the face he made sawing Simon down the middle, or seeding the ground with Josh’s body parts?

Did he picture all of it while befriending her lover, laughing and getting high with his roommates as though they were old friends? The image it conjures sends a violent shudder through her, “You were never real,” her voice cracks. “you were just a snake.”

Neither the frequency of the strikes nor the strength behind them ever wavers. She tucks her lip between her teeth to silence the oncoming sob. Index and forefinger part, framing his face in a perfect ‘V’. “You ruined my _life_ , Pelle.”

An even, unrelenting hand is his only reply. It doesn’t throw her off the way he might think it does. It occurs to Dani he doesn’t know her well enough to recognize the most structurally unsound parts of her. _‘You know...I never had the chance to tell you, that I was so very sorry to hear about your loss.’_

At one time Pelle might have dreamt of swaddling the rubble of her and rebuilding her, brick by brick, in his own image. A perfect, Frankenstein-ian mate for him.

But she’ll only bury him alive instead.

Dani can see his face through her parted fingers like a noose. He doesn’t falter, never stumbles. “I know you enjoy it.” She whimpers. The bench creaks. “Because you will _never_ Hold me, Pelle…This is all you’ll ever get.”

The swings don’t land any harder than they ever had, but at last he looks at her. Blue sloshing into green into infinity within the mirror. Somewhere between one shudder and the next, Pelle becomes her Sister becomes Herself becomes Pelle again. He could end it early, stop at 24. Dani is grateful, somewhat, that she lasts long enough to wail brokenly over the 27th.

It’s enough to send her crashing against the desk, wheezing. The marbled wood warms under her tears and mucus and spit. It takes a moment to gather herself, and gain her bearings. When she raises up, Pelle is as he was before, standing dutifully between her and the door. It might be the perfect metaphor for them.

He won’t encroach upon her, but neither can she leave. It’s a relentless dance of charging and retreating and encircling one another. A week of turning this way and that, feinting one way or the other, and each time he heads her off by standing still. He’ll never attack and will only leave her one way to go.

So she twists to face him properly, sitting on the desk, toes on the bench. And with blood mixed in tears staining her swollen cheeks, she beckons him come.

He knocks the small bench aside, dropping the belt, his hands shoving themselves into the thick of her hair. And he kisses her like one who’s only known thirst. The glass cools and soothes her searing back making her pull his weight into her, press her deeper deeper ever deeper. His teeth sink into the fat of her lip, slurping up her throaty whimpers. She thinks he groans her name under his breath, although it’s possible she just imagined it. Maybe she’s imagined getting on that plane altogether.

Dani can’t help but hate the traitorous slick slithering out of her, coating her thighs and smearing his abdomen. Hates the feel of it gliding over the firm patch of skin above his cock. It’s unthinkable that Dani could ever forgive him for making her feel this way.

Faintly, she feels him move to squeeze her hip, dip into the meat and fat of her. He laps at her tongue as an animal would a wound, and she winds her legs around him, settling her heels in the dimples of his back. Her ass is hot, numb and aching against the wood, but his fingers stroke down her belly; curling against something inside her that makes her arch, bumbling her head against the glass. All at once, Pelle is everywhere, caging her in, filling her lungs, her mouth, her cunt, too much, too full and not enough.

With a tug of her knee, she pulls him flush against her sopping folds, sighing at the hiss and groans he makes into her mouth. For a second she worries he might try to carry her to the bed behind him covered in petals and hope, thankfully he only tucks her knee into his shoulder bringing it to her chest.

She’s sure she glimpsed a bloody Bear standing in her peripheral vision. A flicker and it’s nothing.

Pushing away the hand between her legs, she shakes her head whimpering “No more no more, please. Now..” Hands, she can’t tell who’s anymore, shove his pants down below his hips. He’s breathing and nodding eagerly, gliding the thickness of his cock along her slit. Up, Down, Once, twice, before going lower deeper. _Yess_.

It’s her knee thrust into his shoulder that stops him from getting too far. Dani looks him in the eye as she twines her fingers around the wrist near her cheek, bringing it down to nestle at the base of her throat. Abruptly he stops moving, maybe stops breathing entirely. Pelle’s gaze is unreadable, although she likes to think she’s getting better with time. Her thumb pushes into the bone of his wrist before curling around his forearm.

Here she will set her terms. He can keep her in his own yard, but he can’t dictate the games she plays. There’s a tightness in his shoulders, steeling himself perhaps. When her trachea constricts, she almost kisses him.

Her airway tightens at the same time her dripping channel expands around him. There’s no fighting the husky moans she keens, tilting her face to the roof, not knowing what pressure to push what part of herself into. Its indescribable.

The trails and halos of color become brighter, more vivid. Dani the orphan, the disposable, that girl feels so far away now. There’s nothing but burning lungs, yearning whimpers, and an engulfing fullness clogging her brain, daring to tear her apart now. It’s a fullness that leaves her hungry still. His nose nudges her temple, his lips bumping the arch of her cheek.

It’s not enough _notenoughmorepleasemore_.

A long guttural whine, resonates through her. The desk numbs and bites, although not enough to stop her from arching her hips more, opening herself further to his onslaught. His fingers dig into her knee, making her squeal as his cock rams that delicate knot of nerves that makes her thighs quake. Closesoclose…Perhaps the mirror will break around them, shred what’s left of her back, every inch of her being mercilessly bombarded and penetrated. The thought alone is almost enough to make her cum. Despite blood swelling in her cheeks and cranium, although she should know better, Dani wraps both hands around Pelle’s unyielding wrist, bringing it firmer against her throat.

He’s observing her, his forehead nudging hers, his hair blending into her own. For the first time she thinks he might look hesitant, then his thumb is pushing into her carotid artery, making her see double. She takes the last full gasp she’s able and slides her fingers along his cheek, ‘harder’ she mouths, ‘ _harder_.’

Chest heaving with the effort, he drives into her, pressing a nipping kiss to the inside of her knee. Oh God, just a little—Dani hikes her leg up higher, up around his ribs and—there, there! She dry sobs, spine freezing up as though she’d touched an electric socket.

Pelle hisses between clenched teeth, her trachea bent in an iron grip. Throttling the life out of her while fucking new lifeinto her. Through her colorful tunnel vision, the last thing she thinks she sees is Christian. Bleeding and burning in his Bear Skin, choking her and fucking her and never forgiving her.

Ultimately she gives in, lets herself submerge into nothingness.

*

When she comes to, she’s more confused about not waking in her own bed than she is about Pelle crouching over herfrantically chanting her name. His hands on her cheeks, thumbs checking her eyes. He looks more panic-stricken than she’s ever seen him. Come to think of it, she can’t recall ever seeing him truly afraid, or sad, or angry.

“Dani! Dani..” He sighs at her belatedly squints and groans.

She mumbles, disoriented. “Hey..” A steady thrumming concern washes away the immediate panic lining his face.

“Are you hurt?” He whispers, carefully stroking the necklace of bruises around her neck.

Warily feeling for anything that she wouldn’t normally expect in this kind of situation, Dani shakes her head lightly. Nothing of note outside the anticipated soreness. “No, I’m okay. I’m okay.” She takes a slow breath, concentrating on the expanding and contracting of her rib cage. Everything appears to work fine. Better than fine, maybe. It’s as if she took the deepest nap of her life, waking up shiny and new. “How long was..-how long?”

“Less than a minute.” He says stroking the sweaty hair from her forehead. “It just felt much longer.”

Uncertain of how else to answer, she agrees, eyes glancing to her side to notice she’s laying next to the upturned bench.

She grunts as his arms readjust to pluck her up. “Come, you should soak. I’ll clean this, so it doesn’t get infected.” There’s barely ample strength to sit up let alone fight him off, so she obliges him, mindful of places that are tender still.

The larger tub near the center of the cabin, close to the fireplace, is still warm when Pelle lowers her down with him. Arranging her in his lap, head tucked into his collar, her knees book ending his thighs. Dani winces then hums pleasantly as he squeezes a lukewarm cloth over the series of blistering welts across her back. Never scrubbing, only lightly tapping the swelling and bloody skin. His other hand soaks her hair, drawing it from her neck to trace her bare shoulder with his lips.

There’s the faint expectation that he could report the events of tonight to the other Hårga, however unlikely it might seem. For whatever reason Dani has the sense their evening is not something he’d welcome explaining. Whether out of shame or something heavier there’s no telling for certain. Although, it’s feasible he would be loathe to share this part of himself with anyone outside of them. This piece, fitting in neither her world nor his, might be theirs alone.

Pelle gently bathes her like this for what could be hours, periodically asking whether she’s thirsty, whether she’s hungry. Her answer is always no. She is full, satiated, to the brim, and greed isn’t a particular character flaw Dani possesses. So they relax into the rippling water in a tranquil silence, thigh to thigh, her hands tucked between their chests while his delicately soothes her aches. Her eyes track a bead of what could be sweat or water trail down his collarbone, enjoying the rare moment of serenity.

He unexpectedly breaks the tentative peace between them.

“I’m not sad my friends are dead, Dani.” He whispers, softly running his nails down the curve of her ass. “I am happy, so very happy, that you are here with me now.” He presses a kiss to her temple, muttering quietly to her. “The day I met you, I knew.” His voice is gentle and steady, threatening to lull her to sleep against him. “I haven’t been able to get you out of my mind any day since. I knew we were meant to be together.”

Dani remains silent, and yet it doesn’t unnerve her. Not the way his indecipherable care and attention had always unnerved her before. In lieu of confessions and declarations she’s not ready to mean, she runs the tips of her nails up the swell of his throat, tracing the hair along his jawline. With a heavy breath he takes her roaming fingers and kisses the inside of her palm the way she’d seen other Hårga kiss runes for blessings.

Everything is different, at the same time nothing has changed. Pelle’s merely yanked her from an ocean of anguish, much of his own making, and shepherded her into a pool of it instead.

*

She studies, from afar, the Hårga spilling the water in which she’d bathed with Pelle that night. It runs through their funneled irrigation system, creating small aqua-fireworks across their crops. What will grow from this union of love and horror? Her imagination conjures up macabre images of severed limbs, covered in splendid flora, sprouting from this soil. The depravity of Maja nourishing Christian’s baby with food grown from Dani and Pelle’s blood, cum and sweat disturbs her even more. Though, not as much as potentially giving birth to Pelle’s own child.

The constant throbbing up and down her back has provided pleasant distractions from the ghosts that haunt her. They linger, but don’t follow her as closely anymore. She wants to hope that one day they’ll drift so far away she forgets them altogether. She wants to hope it without feeling like a terrible person. She is, though. The Papa Bear, Mama Bear, and Baby bears are all gone. It’s just Goldilocks in their empty house, still hearing echoes of them.

Dani remembers her Dad reading her fairytales about Bulls driving unicorns into the sea, that’s why there aren’t any more. They were all herded into the ocean, never to return to their forest homes. All except one. As a child, thinking of being alone, being left behind, seemed worse than death.

Worse than being unwanted or resented.

A low rustling of grass crushing under foot startles her until long fingers slide into her own. Pelle contentedly watches the ceremony with her and she’s mildly curious why he hasn’t joined them instead. His thumb brushes a rolling line across her knuckles.

They watch quietly before he squeezes her hand and tugs her along with a coy grin. “Dani, come with me.”

At first she thinks he means to bring her over to celebrate with the rest of the Hårga, though oddly enough Pelle steers her away towards a more secluded path. Just the two of them. So she allows the Bull to coral her, driving her into the water. But there is no sea, only a pond small enough for him to orbit her forever.

*

**Author's Note:**

> -Peter S. Beagle. The Last Unicorn. 1968.


End file.
